


You Come Back To What You Need

by Anonymous



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Knifeplay, Light Dom/sub, No Blood, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Self-Affirmations, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:54:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29912415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Malika watches Cole clean the knives.
Relationships: Female Cadash/Cole (Dragon Age)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 8
Collections: Nobody Expects the Dragon Age Smutquisition





	You Come Back To What You Need

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blarfkey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blarfkey/gifts).



Malika knows Cole would never hurt her.

Not that he couldn't, because she's seen him kill more times than she can count, just that he wouldn't. Ever.

She curls on her side on the bed and watches him standing at the desk. He picks up the knives one by one, his and hers, and cleans them carefully, almost reverentially. He doesn't look at her, doesn't speak. Cole's focused on his task.

Finally finished, he surveys his work and selects one knife from the line up. It's one of hers, the one she calls 'Malice.' Malika shivers and it's got nothing to do with her naked form in the chilled mountain air.

There's a dip when he sits on the edge of the bed. "Lie on your front," he says softly. He says everything softly when he's holding a knife. He knows he doesn't need volume to hold her attention.

Malika lies down as instructed and can't keep in the little whine when the knife touches her skin for the first time. She feels his free hand on her upper thigh, soothing and steadying at once.

Cole traces the tattoos across her back, all lines and angles, with the tip of the blade. There's a few places it drags over old scars where it feels just a bit too sensitive, but Malika knows to keep still.

It's excruciating, the slow, careful movements, the soft, gentle touches. She knows what he's doing, building her up, easing her into a place in her mind where she can actually relax. And it works, it always does, it just takes a long time to get there, and Cole cannot be hurried.

When he rolls her over, she's drowsy and pliable.

"Would you like to continue?" he asks. He always asks, and she answers with the same neediness, the same desperation, and the clawing fear inside that he might leave.

"I'm here," Cole reminds her.

"Okay," she says. "Yes, continue."

He flips the knife in his hand and it glints dangerously in the candle light. If it were anyone else, she'd accuse them of showing off. But Cole's not other people. Other people who come near her with knives get stabbed with great prejudice.

The sharp point of the knife traveling up her stomach, between her breasts, and stopping at the little hollow in her throat is more than enough to snap her back to the moment.

He holds it there, levelled at her throat until she meets his eyes.

"What do you say?" he asks slowly.

Malika wants to take a deep breath to steady herself, but the point of the knife is too real. Her voice comes out in a whisper. "I am good. I have worth. I am loved."

"Good," Cole says, a rare smile gracing his lips. He flips the knife again, holding it in reverse. He spreads her thighs with his other hand. Malika lets herself heave a sigh. The hard part is over and now she gets what she wants.

He eases his cock into her slowly, giving her time to adjust, murmuring praise and encouragement, all the while holding the blade to her throat. Cole fucks her slow, exactly the way he knows drives her mad, taking breaks to lean back, circle her clit with his fingers, or drag the edge of the dagger down her breasts, her stomach, her thighs.

When tears are threatening to spill, from frustration and overstimulation without climax, he sets the knife aside and lets her loose. Malika crawls out from under him and forces him onto his back, riding him until she comes spectacularly.

Cole runs his hands up her sides and says her name, then says it again, and again, until it becomes comforting nonsense in her ears. She lies down with him, pillows her head on his shoulder, and drops into a deep, restful sleep.

He'd never hurt her. She is loved.


End file.
